Stay
by Nextin-line
Summary: When love comes together in one night stands


She was all legs and a short red dress. When she walked, she left behind the scent of jasmine and cherry blossoms and men with their jaws touching the ground. When she was younger she was pink and cute. Now that she was older she was scarlet and sexy. When she talked, it was like spring rain—light, refreshing, and cool—and when she laughed it was like the sun breaking through the clouds—bright, warm, and always welcomed.

Her high heels clicked on the cobblestone ground with every step she took. The sound bounced and echoed off the walls at the more deserted areas of the venue. It caught the attention of men and boys who stopped to look up from their late afternoon papers or comic books to catch a glimpse of her and her wonderful looks in the lights of their evening lanterns.

And how wonderful her looks were. Her lips were painted a deep red as an accent to her soft green eyes and her pink hair. Her skin had a certain look to it. It was weathered and tanned lightly but soft to the touch and gorgeous to behold. It portrayed her spirit and her entire self—beautiful to look at, but rough and worn and knowing. She was delicate and tough at the same time. She was the independent and beautiful young woman that all the men wanted.

Though many of them have had her, they have never really possessed her. The beautiful and cute girls are always portrayed and thought of as innocent and immaculate and untouchable. She thought it was stupid because beautiful and cute girls were the ones making money doing pornography. If anything the beautiful and cute girls were the least innocent or immaculate of them all. She wanted to be seductive, manipulative, tempting. She was beautiful and cute and that's what seduced, manipulated, and tempted all the men—and some of the women.

She didn't mind the attention. She craved it. She loved it. It was like being a movie star; and all the pretty people wanted to be in some big sex scene with you. It made her feel loved when she felt most alone. All the girls would release with her name on their lips, and all the men would tell her she looked beautiful in the moonlight. She hated the sound of her own name off of somebody else's lips. And they never fucked in the pale moonlight anyway. But the lies were nice, because nobody wants to hear the truth. Especially Sakura.

But sometimes the lies really didn't satisfy her. It was one lie after another, _I love you_, _you're so beautiful_, _you're gorgeous_. Sometimes it was fitting, and it made her believe in all the words they said. Other times they were just hollow compliments, effigies of the things she really wanted.

She would never admit that what she wanted was a love like the classic novels; ones that were real, and had meaning, and lasted throughout the ages. She vehemently denied wanting anything like that. It was too girly, too childish, too five years ago. She was too grown-up for fairy tales and princess stories. She wanted men, a different one every night. She wanted women, the kind that begged to let her have them. She wanted…

"Kakashi…" She recognized his silver hair and slouched shoulders from some distance away. He turned around and smiled in that way that only his eye smiled. She used to think about what he was hiding under his mask; Naruto always insisted it was something ridiculously hideous, like fish lips or something. She caught him eying her up and down and smirked to herself.

She wanted him. Desperately. He was the only man in Konoha that she wanted but never got. He was older, rougher around the edges, more mature. She fantasized about having him and falling in love with him and living with him. It made her sick to think that way. He'd never want a whore like her for the rest of his life; she would be satisfied with just a fuck. The fact that he was her former teacher made the thought of having him so much more tempting.

"Spending the night out, Sakura?" She nodded and smiled. She wanted to reel him in.

"Let me buy you a drink, Kakashi!" She smiled innocently, the way she'd practiced in her mirror, the smile she knew that brought all of Konoha to its knees to be with her. He accepted. He was just a man after all.

--

They arrived. He sat down, she bought him drinks. They talked about the last few years, exchanged old stories, told each other about the people they've met. He never noticed she was only buying drinks for him. He never noticed his glass was never, ever emptied. He never noticed the twinkle in her eyes that would have otherwise told him what she was up to. And if she hadn't been too busy trying to think of things to talk about, she would have noticed the twinkle in his.

She wasn't trying to get him drunk. His drinks were light, bad, watered down beer. She wanted him to remember this. She was tired of sloppy, wet kisses and thrusts without rhythm. She wanted him there, though she didn't know exactly why.

They talked about the good old days, before Sasuke was executed, before Naruto became part of the Anbu, before their lives had split like a fork in the road. They talked about the people they had met on each new road: the good, the bad, the ones that would never be forgotten. They talked about rivalries—Naruto and Sasuke, her and Ino, Lee and Neji, him and Gai. They talked about deaths—Sasuke's, Obito's, the Third Hokage's, his father's, her mother's. And the whole time each was planning on making their move.

He leaned in towards her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and surprised her by saying, "Come over to my place."

She had wanted to be the first to make a move. He'd stolen her line. He wanted her and her heart leapt and she had no idea why. Her ear tingled slightly; his touch made her quiver. He backed off and let her decide, but there was no deciding, she'd made up her mind when she asked him to have drinks with her. He stood up and took her hand and led her out of the bar, the way a man in a tuxedo would lead a lovely lady to the dance floor. She felt her composure crack ever so slightly and again, she had no idea why.

--

They walked in the road and avoided the sidewalks. They walked close together and far apart. Her heels clicked along into the night while they talked. His hair looked even more silver as the moon shone through it. His posture was straighter; he was trying to impress her. Her hips had a little more sway in them; she was trying to impress him. They knew what they wanted, knew what was going to happen, knew the moment they agreed to spend the night out together. And they were afraid.

He was afraid he wasn't good enough for her. He was afraid she'd hate his looks, his body, his physique. He was afraid to hold her, afraid to lay his troubles on her, afraid to taint her. He was afraid of not being man enough.

She was afraid of what he thought of her, how he'd treat her, what she meant to him. She was afraid that he'd see through her; see what no one else saw in her, see what a mess she was. She was afraid of the morning, and the days after.

--

He unlocked the door to his small apartment, heard every single gear click against one another when the key slid in, heard every creak of wood when the door opened. He let her step in, and never dared to turn on the light. He didn't want her too see the way he lived: the beer bottles, the take-out boxes, the newspapers, the cigarette butts, all of it—all of him—on the floor. Took her by the hand and led her silently to his bedroom and closed the door behind them.

The room was lit by a full moon. Their skin pale in the light, his hair shining so bright, her eyes shining through the night. She reached for his mask, he reached for his head band, and as she pulled down, he pulled up and at once his face was revealed.

So many years of never knowing what his face really looked like, and now she was falling in love with it. She kissed his jaw and his lips, sucked on his bottom lip and explored his mouth with her tongue. She brought her hand up to his face and stroked it gently; he reached for her waist and led her to his bed.

He took off his vest and she helped him out of his shirt, and it all landed somewhere else in the room. He was muscular and scarred and battered, but somehow he was beautiful in a sad sort of way. He had too many scars; she wanted to kiss them all and she did and he let her.

She slipped out of her dress and slid off his pants and everything was visible now. Every sorrow, every regret, every tiny bit of hoping—they laid their troubles down in front of each other. And each thought the other's was beautiful, and did not want to waste this moment and this night. They kissed and they sighed, they moaned, they panted, they did what lovers did. Her nails cut into his back, his thrusts were fast and hard, their minds racing, their hearts beating, everything was happening so fast and so slow.

And everything was perfect when it ended. She believed in all the words he said; she believed in every kiss he gave her; she believed in every compliment he whispered. And it broke her heart. They collapsed on his bed; she laid in his arms as he swept strands of hair out of her face. He kissed her again and again and again. He touched the skin of her body and made her shiver. He told her he loved her, and he waited a long while for her reply. It broke her heart to hear him say those words, because she had been lied to so many times that they never seemed real to her anymore. They dozed off in each other's arms.

--

She awoke in the early morning, the shades of the window drawn open slightly cascaded light down her face and woke her from her slumber. She picked up her clothes systematically; it was all routine—the morning after. She saw his beer bottles, his magazines, his newspapers, his pizza boxes, his empty instant noodle cartons, his entire life on the floor of his bedroom. Of all the lives she had woken up to his was the most morbid and lonely. It looked like he drank himself to sleep everyday. The bottles lined the walls, piled high in corners, and there were more outside in the living room. There were pictures everywhere: smiling faces of his colleagues and his teammates and team seven and other teams. She noted to herself that it was really awkward to get dressed in front of her twelve year old self. She briefly wondered what happened to everyone's lives to make everything get off track like this.

She put on her dress and combed her hair. She did everything quietly; it was second nature. Part of her hoped he would wake up, just to see her leaving his apartment. Just to see how he would react. And when he did wake up, she was completely taken aback.

He sat up in his bed, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He saw her dressed and frowned. Their eyes met and she looked away quickly, shyly almost.

"Where are you going?"

"I… it's morning. I'm leaving," she bit her lip and looked at her feet. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and scared. It reminded her of when she was twelve and standing next to Sasuke, the feeling of butterflies and uneasiness.

For a time there was silence. She was thinking about turning around and walking out the door. She wondered if this one night stand could have been her biggest mistake. The one she would regret. The only one she'd regret. When he didn't say anything, she made up her mind and turned to leave, put her hand on the door and prepared to walk out.

"Wait. Please, don't leave," his voice cracked. It was so foreign to hear him lose his cool. "You don't have to leave, please. Just… Just stay here, with me," She heard the creak of his bed as he got out of it and felt his presence move about the room looking for his clothes.

She turned around and faced him. She looked at him standing there and thought that she really loved this man. Though his eyes were sad and his body aging, she really did love this man, standing before her with nothing to his name but beer bottles, cigarettes, and empty instant noodle cartons. And all he had given her was a single night. She began to cry, because she wanted so much more than a single night with this man that she had loved for so many years. This man she'd never admit she loved. This man who could only give her his smile and his word and his troubles. This man who then put his arms around her and held her while she sobbed, who kissed her again and again, and told her she never had to leave, and even if she did she was always welcomed back.

She sobbed and shook her head and kissed his chest and said she never wanted to go, never wanted to leave. And he pulled her away at arms lengths and looked her straight in the eye and said to her:

"Okay. Stay."


End file.
